M Beaton - A Spoonful of Poison

“Who you?”

“Someone who’s willing to pay you for a few minutes of your time-in private.”

He grinned and rose to his feet. They followed him to the side of the pub. “Now, what’s it about?”

“Trixie Webster.”

“Who?”

But his eyes flickered.

Agatha opened her handbag and took out a roll of notes which she always carried tucked away in case she needed to bribe someone.

He looked at the notes and said slowly, “What if I do?”

“Did she ask you for any LSD recently? We’re not the police.”

“I’ll put it this way,” said Zak slowly. “You tell the police and I’ll find you and break your legs.”

“Okay,” said Agatha. “I just want to know.”

“You someone from that village where she lives?”

“Yes,” lied Agatha.

He eyed the notes greedily. “How much is there?”

“Five hundred.”

He hesitated and then said, “Well, I don’t owe that bitch nothing. Yes, I got her some acid. Now, give me the money and don’t let me see you again and if the pigs come for me, you’re toast.”

Agatha handed over the money and she and Toni hurried off to the car park.

Toni drove off a little way and then parked the car. “Now, what do we do?” she asked.

“Tell Bill.”

“What! No confronting the suspect like Poirot? And what if Zak comes looking for us?”

“Let me think. I know. We now know for sure that Zak is dealing drugs. We tell Bill to get the police to pick him up for dealing and possession. Then they can cut a deal with him. He testifies he gave Trixie the acid and that’s that. Let’s get to police headquarters.”

But they were told that Bill was at home. Agatha’s heart sank. Bill’s parents always surveyed her as if something particularly nasty had turned up on their doorstep.

Cherry Upfield fed her cat and settled down in front of her television set to watch a late edition of Midlands News. She sat up straight as a shot of a church covered in scaffolding came into view and the presenter said, “Repairs have begun on the church in Comfrey Magna, scene of recent extraordinary events.” As Cherry watched, there was an interview with the vicar, and standing next to him, smiling sweetly, was Trixie.

Cherry’s eyes narrowed. That smug bitch. She’d still like to get even with her. She lifted the receiver on the phone next to her chair and dialled directory inquiries and asked for the number of Arthur Chance at the vicarage in Comfrey Magna.

The phone rang several times and then a woman answered.

“Trixie?” asked Cherry.

“Yes, who is this?”

Got a posh voice now, thought Cherry. “It’s me, Cherry Upfield.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know you,” said Trixie firmly, and Cherry was suddenly sure she was about to hang up.

“Wait! I just want to give you a warning. Do you know Agatha Raisin?”

“Go on.”

“She’s on your trail. Got your drugs background. I hope you didn’t get any acid from Zak because that was where she was heading when I left.”

Trixie hung up and stood, breathing hard. “Who was it?” called Arthur.

“A well-wisher,” said Trixie.

Agatha and Toni, having passed the formidable barrier that was Mrs. Wong who had grumbled at the lateness of the hour, told Bill all they had found out.

He listened to them with excitement. “We never thought of checking a vicar’s wife out,” he said. “We’ll get on to it in the morning.”

“Be sure you get Zak before he gets us,” said Agatha. “He said he would break my legs if I told the police.”

“Leave it with me.”

“So that’s that,” said Agatha as she said goodnight to Toni after dropping her off at her flat. “Thanks for all the driving. I’m still so tired, I’ll be glad to get home.”

Once in her cottage, Agatha unwound the cats from around her ankles and decided to check her answering service.

There was one message from Mrs. Bloxby. She said, “I hope it’s all right. I gave Mrs. Chance your address. She said she had some news that might help you.”

Agatha checked that the burglar alarm was on. She wondered whether to phone Bill and then decided to do it in the morning.

She slept uneasily, wishing not for the first time that she had bought a modern house and not an old thatched cottage where the timbers creaked and the thatch rustled.

In the morning she showered and dressed and went downstairs. She opened her front door to bring in the pint of milk that she had ordered to be delivered every day. Agatha drank her coffee black but liked to have milk in the fridge for her pampered cats and for any visitors. She wondered where Charles was and wished he would leave a note every time he went away to say when he would be back. She debated whether to phone him but did not feel like dealing with his man, Gustav, who delighted in telling her that Charles was not at home, even when he was.

She was bending down to pick up the bottle of milk when she saw a little dead bird lying beside it. Blue tits had a habit of pecking through the foil top of the milk and drinking the cream. Agatha went back into her cottage on shaking legs and called the police.

Bill and Wilkes turned up, followed by a forensic team. Agatha explained how Mrs. Bloxby had left her a message to say that Trixie had called, asking for her address. The little bird was bagged up and the milk bottle sealed and taken away.

Agatha suddenly had a horrible idea. “The office!” she exclaimed. “There’s milk delivered there. I’d better phone Toni and tell her to get round there and make sure no one touches it. Nobody’s due at the office for another hour.”

“We’ll send a policewoman round there to meet her,” said Wilkes.

Toni hurried round to the office. She looked down at the bottle of milk outside and decided it would be best to leave it until the police arrived. She unlocked the door and went in.

She was just jacking up her computer when she heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” she called over her shoulder.

Toni heard someone come in. “Did you get the milk?” she asked.

“No, but you’re going to get it.”

Toni swung round and stared in alarm at Trixie Chance, who was standing there with a knife in one hand and the bottle of milk in the other.

“You and that lesbian boss of yours have ruined my life,” said Trixie. “Let’s see what she feels when she finds her little creature dead on the office floor-although she’s probably dead herself by now.”

“I’m not a lesbian and neither is Agatha,” said Toni, standing up. “Put down the knife.”

Toni moved behind her typing chair.

“Why couldn’t you leave me alone?” snarled Trixie.

“Because you caused the deaths of two women,” said Toni, while inside her head her mind raced. To have survived a brutal childhood, to have come out of it all into the sunshine of a glorious life and to have it threatened by this madwoman. Toni felt herself beginning to burn up with white-hot rage. She grasped the back of her wheeled typing chair and ran with it, slamming it into Trixie and sending her flying just as the door opened and a policewoman and policeman rushed in. Trixie was making a dive for the knife, which had fallen out of her hand, when the policewoman fired her Taser gun into her back.

The policeman handcuffed Trixie while the policewoman said, “She’ll come round any minute now. What happened here?”

Toni told her about Agatha’s warning. The police called for forensics and told headquarters to tell Wilkes of the latest development.

More police arrived. Toni repeated her story over and over again while a recovered Trixie was taken away, swearing horribly.